


these twist and turns of fate

by Remy (iamremy)



Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: A lot of medical stuff, Banter, Feelings, Fluff, Humor, Hurt!Will, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 14:01:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3137012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/Remy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt by <a href="http://spnxbookworm.tumblr.com/">Sanjana</a>: what if Ethan returns from a mission to find Will hurt and in the hospital?</p>
            </blockquote>





	these twist and turns of fate

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone :D how's it going?
> 
> This fic is for Sanjana, who prompted it and who I promised this as a reward for studying Anatomy without resorting to murder. It's rather on the long side, but I'm proud of it and I hope you all like it as well.
> 
> While I've researched the medical stuff in it as best as I could, and used my own knowledge, please take it with a grain of salt. Thank you.

**A is for acrid.**

She manages to get out of the building a split second before the entire thing goes up in flames, glass shattering, wood crackling, the acrid smell of burned skin and hair heavy on the air. She collapses on the sidewalk across the road from the burning building, taking him down with her.

He's not conscious, she realizes. He's slumped, half in her lap, eyes closed and chest barely moving. When she touches his head, her hand comes away sticky and red, and she yells for help, almost vomiting at how fast it soaks up the dark blond of his hair into something maroon and disgusting and sick.

**B is for blood.**

An acute subdural hematoma as well as external bleeding, they tell her later on, when they've managed to get her looked at and patched up. There is a lot of pressure building up inside his cranium, from all the blood, they say. The doctors are trying their best to reduce the pressure, check for swelling and make sure there's been no brain damage. This time she does throw up.

He is so, so brilliant. If anything happens to him, and she knows that she could have prevented it, she's never going to forgive herself.

**C is for crying.**

She lies awake in the hospital bed all night long. They're still operating on him. There is no news, as of now. She feels sick to her stomach when she thinks of all the blood leaking out inside his skull, pressing against his brain. “If he were awake,” a nurse tells her, “he would be in a lot of pain.”

She doesn't even realize she's crying, not until the nurse says, “What's wrong, honey?”

She shakes her head, trying to turn her face away. “It's my fault,” she manages to say, before pressing her lips together and wiping furiously at her eyes. She's a big girl, and big girls don't cry. Not even when they get a teammate injured so badly that no one knows if he'll live.

“Oh, honey,” says the nurse sympathetically, taking the hand that doesn't have an IV in it. “Jane – can I call you Jane? – it wasn't your fault, sweetheart. You saved his _life_. You did everything you could. Don't blame yourself.”

Jane nods, lips still pressed tightly together. “Thank you,” she gets out. “I – I'll keep that in mind.”

But she doesn't stop crying even after the nurses leave.

**D is for desperation.**

They've managed to get the swelling and pressure under control for now, she finds out when she wakes up the next morning. But he's not awake, and they still don't know if there's been any brain damage or not. They can't tell when he'll wake up – or even if he will at all.

She throws up again.

Her door opens, a little after midday, and a familiar face peeks in. He strides in when he sees she's awake, and instantly envelopes her in a tight hug. “Are you all right?” he asks intently when he lets go, and she realizes dully that she's crying again.

“I'm okay, Benji,” she tells him with a tired smile. “I have a cracked tibia and pelvis, and some more fun stuff, and they want to keep me in for observation. Just in case. I'm fine, though.”

He nods, and returns her smile, but his eyes don't crinkle at the corners the way they do when he really means it. “I – uh, they won't let me see Will,” he says, and his voice cracks on the last word. “They're saying he's critical.”

She nods, and bites down hard on her bottom lip so that she won't sob. He's looking at her in desperation, because if she breaks down there is no way he can remain strong. “He's going to make it, isn't he, Jane?” he asks hoarsely, seeking confirmation. “I mean – he  _has_ to, right?”

She starts crying again, and doesn't stop for hours. She's already lost Trevor, she can't lose another teammate. Not like this.

**E is for Ethan.**

He arrives in a whirlwind of cursing and swearing, and she can hear him yelling in the distance, demanding to see Will. She closes her eyes and pulls her sheets over her head, as if he'll go away if she can't hear him any more. Benji looks sympathetically at her but doesn't say anything.

Ethan throws open the door and strides straight over to Jane's bed. “What happened?” he demands roughly, pulling her covers off her. “Jane,  _what happened to him_ ?”

“Hey, you stop that!” Benji exclaims when Ethan looks like he's going to reach over and start shaking her if she doesn't respond. “She's hurt, Ethan!”

Ethan looks from Benji to Jane, and then takes a few deep breaths, attempting to bring his temper back under control. “I'm sorry,” he finally says, offering her a contrite look. “I'm so sorry, Jane. I'm just... scared.”

She nods, accepting it, heart beating a mile a minute still. “It's okay,” she says, her voice hoarse from lack of use. He looks unharmed, so at least there's that.

“Jane, what – what happened?” he asks again, a pleading look on his face. Dimly she notes his knuckles are a livid red, like he's been hitting things. “Jane – why won't they let me see Will? What happened to him? They're not telling me anything, Jane.”

She needs a second to compose herself before she can start telling him, but he takes it in the worst possible way and all color drains from his face. “No. He's not – Jane, please tell me he's not _dead_ –”

“No,” she interrupts at once. “He's – he's alive, Ethan. He's alive.” And it looks like his entire body goes limp from relief.

It's not very long-lasting, though, because soon he's back up and demanding, “Then tell me what happened. Why won't they let me see him?”

She sits up straight. “We were in the building,” she starts. “Where the deal was supposed to go down. It went smoothly – until we got ambushed. Turned out that there was a third party that no one knew about, and he was  _pissed_ . Had history with our man. He'd been working slowly, over time, had the whole place laced with incendiaries. He poured gasoline down every hallway, every corridor, and chucked a lit cigarette into it. I only just managed to grab Will and run. No one else made it out.” She stops, and takes a deep breath, and shit, here are the tears again, she  _hates_ them so much, but they just don't want to stop coming these days.

“Go on,” Ethan says, endeavoring to keep his tone soft but barely managing to disguise his impatience. He's so single-minded sometimes, especially when it comes to Will. She's seen them rip apart the world for each other, and why should this time be any different?

“I didn't know he'd hit his head, not until we got out,” she continues, knotting her fingers together in her lap and staring down at them. “He hadn't been moving, and I'd assumed it was the smoke inhalation, but when we got out I saw he had a head wound, and he wouldn't respond to anything I did. I yelled for help, and they brought us here.” She looks over at Benji, and he understands that she can't go on.

“They operated for a lot of time,” Benji tells Ethan, clearing his throat awkwardly. “There's external bleeding _and_ a subdural hematoma, which means that there's internal–”

“I know what it means,” interrupts Ethan, and his face is white again, hands fisted at his knees so tightly his knuckles are white underneath the bruising. He suddenly looks ten years older and Jane hates herself.

“Right, well – they're trying to keep the pressure inside his cranium down. He hasn't woken up since, and so they can't tell if there's any brain damage. They – they can't even tell _if_ he'll wake up.” There are tears standing in Benji's eyes.

Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, there are none in Ethan's. “He might not live?” he asks, his voice so calm it's terrifying.

Benji and Jane just look helplessly back at him. In response he closes his eyes and leans his head forward until his eyes are hidden by his bangs hanging down in front of them. His fists flex a little, and two or three times it looks like he'll say something, but in the end he just rises from his seat and leaves silently, and doesn't come back.

**F is for fight.**

He runs into a surgeon in bloody scrubs just outside the operation room, and immediately he has him pinned to the wall, forearm to his throat. “Don't even think about it,” he snarls when the man looks like he's about to call security. He's in his fifties, salt and pepper hair, wire-rimmed glasses and a well-kept goatee.

“What do you want?” asks the surgeon, struggling weakly to free himself of Ethan's hold.

“Stop squirming,” Ethan commands, and the man immediately stills. Something in Ethan's eyes. “You got a patient in here a day ago. Blond hair, light skin – subdural hematoma. He was in surgery for some hours, and now he's in the critical unit. In a coma. Do you know who I'm talking about?”

The surgeon nods. “William Brandt. I'm the one who operated on him.”

Ethan laughs mirthlessly. “You win the contest, Doctor. Why the fuck can't I see him?”

“You said it yourself,” the surgeon answers. “He's in critical condition. _No one_ can see him until we deem it safe.”

“Then hurry up and deem it safe,” snaps Ethan. “You're a fucking doctor. _Do_ something. Fix him.”

“I'm a doctor, not a miracle worker,” corrects the surgeon, squirming some more. “Sir, if you don't let go of me right now I'm going to have to call security.”

Ethan lets go immediately, and then realizes he's just practically assaulted an innocent man. “I am so sorry,” he begins, horrified. “I don't know what came over me. Doctor, please – I'm so sorry.”

The man, to his credit, looks more or less unfazed. “Not the first time it's happened to me, I assure you,” he chuckles. “People get... emotional about their loved ones. You're not the first, and you're definitely not going to be the last.”

“I just – I just need to know if he'll be okay,” pleads Ethan.

“I can't tell you that,” the surgeon says, and for the first time Ethan sees a flicker of sympathy on his face. “The brain, sir, it's a very fragile organ. I may be a neurosurgeon, but even we don't get to play around and tinker with it and hope it works out. I did the best I could, and the rest is completely up to him. I can't make him fight back. I can only do what I'm trained to do, and hope for the best.”

Ethan doesn't reply, just stands there in silence and watches the surgeon go back to his duties. _I can't make him fight back_ , he'd said. Well, maybe he can't, but Ethan can. Ethan's always made Will fight back, and he's not about to stop now.

**G is for ghost.**

He doesn't talk it over with Jane or Benji, not even when he goes to visit them again. Jane's asleep, and seeing her lying against the stark white of the hospital-issue sheets makes him feel ashamed for the way he talked to her earlier. None of this is her fault, she doesn't deserve his anger or ire. He's her friend. And Will's her friend too.

He leans down and kisses her forehead, and smiles at Benji, who's asleep in a chair. Can't be comfortable, but he knows that even if he wakes up Benji the guy's not going to move. So he finds an extra blanket and drapes it over Benji, and leaves as quietly as he came.

He's well-aware that the floor is swarming with nurses, doctors and other people going about their business. A distraction will not work here. However, it's a large hospital, and he's pretty sure that not many people will notice anything out of the ordinary. There are a lot of patients, and the nurses have better things to do than keep an eye on visitors.

So he breaks into a supply closet and steals himself some scrubs, and a mask and cap. It's not hard to look like he fits in here – all he has to do is walk purposefully and keep looking at his watch, like there's somewhere he needs to be. He nods at a few nurses, who nod back without really paying attention, clearly too frazzled to have time for small talk.

He slips into the critical care unit without any problems. From there it's not hard to find Will's ward. His name's written on a piece of paper slid into a placeholder on the door –  _William Brandt_ , in black sharpie. Ethan takes a moment to dwell on the number of times he's seen this sight, and how much he hates it, and then he opens the door and steps inside, a ghost.

**H is for hope.**

Will's lying unmoving on the bed, surrounded by machines and hooked into around a billion wires. There's the standard IV line, an oxygen cannula in his nose, a catheter line coming out of his lower half, and some more Ethan cannot, and has no wish to, identify. The heart monitor shows a reassuring steadiness, but Ethan knows that all of this means nothing if his brain cannot function anymore.

He creeps closer and carefully, oh so carefully, takes Will's hand. There's no place to sit, and he's not going to take the risk of disturbing anything by planting himself on the bed, and so he stands. He just stands and looks for a very long time; takes in the way Will's skin is unnaturally pale without its usual healthy flush; the shaved skin on the side of his head where stitches are visible, and oh boy, he's gonna be looking quite weird for some time; the way, despite everything, he looks like he's just asleep, stretched out in bed after a long mission; but most of all, the way it feels like if Ethan doesn't do something he's going to lose him forever.

He already misses the blue of his eyes and the way he laughs as he talks, how he's so full of movement and life. “Last fucking time we take separate missions,” he says, and grins weakly even though he knows Will can't see it. Hell, Will probably can't even hear him. It's not going to deter him, though.

“Now you listen to me, William Michael Brandt,” Ethan begins, and shit, he just pulled the full name card. Will never took him seriously when he did that, just laughed in his face and continued doing whatever he'd been doing that made Ethan pull the card in the first place. He said it made Ethan sound like a cross middle-aged mother talking to an unruly child.

Well, if it works it works, and Ethan's always going to go for broke when it comes to getting Will back, and hope like hell it's enough. It  _has_ to be.

“I know things are shit right now,” he tries again. “And I know it probably hurts a lot. If you can feel it. I don't know if you can. People always say comatose patients hear and feel everything, but I don't know if that's true. Guess you'll have to wake up and tell me.

“And you _are_ going to wake up, you little shit. You don't get to die on me now, not after _everything_.” Not after he's only gotten a small taste of all they are, and all they can be. All they can have. “You don't get to abandon this team, because we are _lost_ without you. Understand me, Will? You wake the fuck up, and for the love of all that is holy, the next time you suggest splitting up for the same mission I will actually knock you out, so help me.”

Threats and insults don't go a long way in motivating Will, usually, but Ethan's not going to leave him to his own devices now, not when he's lying lifeless in a hospital bed and has reduced his – boyfriend? Lover? Partner? What the fuck are they? – to a broken, pleading mess. There is no way in hell he's letting Will float away, not after everything they've been through together. Not when he was just beginning to open himself up to the idea of spending his life with him.

He never got to say it. He never got to tell Will exactly how much he meant to him, and look where they are now.

He's broken out of his reverie by the sound of voices outside. Reluctantly he lets go of Will's hand and leans down to softly kiss his forehead. The gesture means something much different for Will than it did for Jane. “I'll be back,” he promises, and leaves just as quietly as he came.

**I is for instant.**

He returns to Jane's room to find her awake, and he smiles down at her. She returns it somewhat hesitantly. “Hey,” she greets.

“Hey,” he answers her. “You all right?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

“Look, Jane,” he begins, taking a seat next to her. “I'm sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have acted the way I did. I was terrified and angry, and I didn't know what to do. All the same, it's not fair on you, and I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” she replies simply. “It's not like I didn't completely lose my shit when I heard, either.”

“You know it's not your fault, right?” Ethan asks. “You saved him, Jane. He wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for you.”

“Yeah, but it's not going to mean a damn thing if he doesn't pull through,” she says tiredly. “I should have been more careful.”

“You did everything you could,” Ethan tells her. “Trust me, you don't want to go down that road. It's a hard one to come back from.”

She looks thoughtful, like she's considering it. Then she simply nods. “Okay, Ethan. Thank you.”

He smiles warmly at her. “No, I should be the one thanking you. For saving him.” She opens her mouth to say something, but he cuts her across. “And don't say I don't need to thank you for Will. I do, Jane.”

She closes her mouth again. “Ethan,” she sighs, and then stops. She watches him closely, and he doesn't know what's showing on his face but it must be telling her a lot, judging by her thoughtful frown.

“What is it?” he asks. He's not a man given to it, but right now he feels somewhat self-conscious. Good thing Benji's asleep, or he'd have gotten in on the action too and made Ethan truly uncomfortable.

“Nothing,” she says, her reply instant in a way that suggests it's a lie. “You should get some rest too,” she tells him, changing the subject. “Visiting hours are almost over. Wake Benji. You two go get some rest in an actual bed.”

“Okay, Jane,” he concedes, even though he doesn't want to.

**J is for jagged.**

He arrives back at the hospital the next morning to find that the doctor has news for him. It's the same guy he attacked. Today's he in a lab coat with the name  _Dr. Emmett_ stitched into the breast pocket.

“We've had to perform emergency surgery last night,” he informs them sombrely. “His intercranial pressure went way up, probably a delayed reaction from the trauma, and we couldn't get it back down no matter what we did. We performed a decompressive craniectomy, which means we took out a little piece of his skull to relieve that pressure. We've preserved the piece, called a bone flap, and when the pressure is back to a normal level and it's safe for us to do so, we'll put it back.”

A stunned silence follows. Then Benji asks, “But he'll live, right?”

Dr. Emmett sighs. “Too early to say,” he replies. “But don't lose hope yet.”

Ethan follows him out the door without a word to either Jane or Benji, and finds his supply closet. He takes out the scrubs from where he'd stashed them, and goes to the bathroom. Time for a little espionage again.

Will looks the same as yesterday, except that the shaved part of his skull has more stitches and looks like it's sagging. Ethan knows that if he puts his hand there it'll be soft to the touch. Will's brain would be just under his fingertips, no protective bone between them. The thought makes him gag, and he turns away until he's sure his food won't be making an encore appearance.

The hospital-issue gown Will's got on has slipped off one shoulder a little, revealing the tail end of a jagged scar just on the top of his shoulder. It's old, faded, almost blends in with the skin by now. Ethan remembers how Will got it, and surprisingly it hadn't been on a mission. A skiing accident. How mundane. Still, he wishes that Will's scars were all from such simple things, not shit like – like fires and explosions and knives and bullets.

He doesn't talk today. It doesn't feel like there's anything to say, except for two words, and he says them like a command. “Come back.”

**K is for knowing.**

He keeps recalling the strangest things, even as he lays awake at night and stares at the ceiling above. He remembers a comment Will had made regarding the dumplings at a Chinese restaurant they'd been to once; remembers the exact flavor of the popcorn they'd had the last time they'd sat down to watch a movie together, forever ago; remembers the color of Will's socks – dark blue – the day they'd gone their separate ways for separate parts of the mission. But for the sake of him he can't remember if he's ever told Will just how much he means to him.

As an analyst, Will's job is to know things about people before they know them themselves, so Ethan wouldn't be surprised if Will already knew. Still, there's something to be said about hearing it for yourself as opposed to figuring it out. He's always taken their time for granted, despite the life they had, always thought that he would have all the time in the world with Will.

And it feels like some giant karmic fuckover now, with Will hanging between life and death and Ethan lying on a strange bed in a strange hotel in a strange city, regretting everything he never said.

It started out as a slow buildup of trust and friendship, and then one day Ethan just manned the fuck up and kissed Will. And it developed from there, and just got better and better, and Ethan made the mistake of becoming a creature of habit, growing complacent in his contentment, never realizing that nothing lasts forever and his time with Will is no exception.

Except Will's not dead yet, and damn if Ethan's already going to act like he is. That would mean he's given up hope, and he  _hasn't_ . He just doesn't know what he's going to do without Will, which is kind of unusual in itself. It's not the first time he's in danger of losing someone he cares about. He's an adult and he's not given to falling to pieces every time a relationship ends.

But when Ethan Hunt loves, he does it the way he does everything else – with everything that is inside him. And when Ethan Hunt fights, he gives it his all and refuses to back down. He's not giving up on Will, and there's no way he's letting Will give up either.

**L is for love.**

A huge part of his life is expecting the unexpected, but it still takes him by surprise when Will's fingers twitch inside his. He stares down at his hand, then at the heart monitor, which shows significant signs of improvement. Then, without thinking about the consequences, he yells for help.

A trio of nurses come running into the room, and it takes him a few minutes to explain to them that Will's okay. It takes another few to come clean and tell them he's not a doctor, and that he's been sneaking in. Before the oldest one (and the obvious ringleader) can protest, he says hurriedly, “He moved.”

She eyes him suspiciously. “He did what, now?”

“He moved,” repeats Ethan. “I was holding his hand, and he moved his fingers.”

The nurse glances at one of the monitors that Ethan can't read, and then pages the doctor. “You sit right here,” she adds sternly to Ethan. “We're going to deal with you later.”

Dr. Emmett comes in five minutes later. Without sparing Ethan a single glance to goes to work, opening Will's eyes and shining a light into them, all the time looking at the monitors. Finally he straightens, puts aside his flashlight and says, “Good news. There are signs of brain activity, which means there's still hope for him. I still can't guarantee that he'll wake, but it seems likelier now than before.”

Ethan doesn't even try to suppress the searing hope that flares through his entire body. “How?” he asks, his voice coming out shaky from relief.

The doctor gives him a small smile. “He's fighting back.”

_He's fighting back,_ thinks Ethan.  _He heard me, he's fighting, he's going to wake up_ –

Dr. Emmett seems to remember that Ethan's not where he's supposed to be. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his long, aquiline nose. “You  _are_ aware that you can't just impersonate a medical professional and sneak into restricted wards, right?”

Ethan nods, refusing to be contrite about this.

“While it seems your presence is doing him good, you're still not allowed up here. The risks are higher than the benefits, and I'm not putting my patient at unnecessary risk. Is that clear?”

Ethan nods again.

“Good,” says the doctor forcefully. “Don't let me see you here again.”

“You won't,” promises Ethan. “See me,” he adds under his breath, so that the doctor doesn't hear.

Jane cries again when she hears, and so does Benji. There are hugs all around. Benji tearfully announces that when Will wakes up he's getting his arse kicked for getting them worried. Jane agrees. Ethan thinks they should hold back on the ass-kicking until after Will's better.

He loves Will so much, so so much. It only makes sense that he's the one who can talk Will into fighting, into coming back to him. And if some puny neurosurgeon with a fancy accent thinks he can stop Ethan from seeing Will – well, he's got another thing coming, because nothing,  _nothing_ on this earth can keep them apart.

**M is for map.**

The first time they'd kissed had been, oddly enough, on a mission. Or maybe it's not that odd, considering their lives.

They'd had to split up on that one too, and just before Ethan left in his car he threw caution to the winds, grabbed the front of Will's shirt and delivered a bruising kiss, before coming back to his senses and letting go. He'd just opened his mouth to apologize when Will slammed back into him, initiating another kiss, and it took Jane's angry yells to break them apart.

“I'm aware that this has been a long time in the coming but for the love of fuck _WILL YOU TWO GET A FUCKING MOVE ON, WE'RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME!!!”_

Ethan just grinned at Will and said, “Don't die”, and they'd been off.

They didn't talk about it, though, not even when they got to the safehouse later, after finishing the mission successfully. Will just came and sat down next to Ethan on the sofa and leaned into his side, and didn't move for hours. He ended up falling asleep there, with Ethan's arm around his shoulders, Ethan's fingers tracing patterns on his bare shoulder, imagining that he was drawing a map to Will's heart.

**N is for name.**

Will's getting better, the doctor tells them on Ethan's third morning in the hospital. Swelling's gone down considerably, brain activity is improving, and he's even started breathing on his own. “It's remarkable,” comments Dr. Emmett. “He's recovering a lot faster than predicted.” He smiles at Ethan. “He's fighting.”

“That's great to hear,” beams Benji. “Really.”

“Thanks,” adds Jane with a smile of her own. “So what now?”

“Well, we're obviously going to keep monitoring him. If the swelling stays down, we're going to replace the bone flap,” Dr. Emmett explains. “When he wakes up, we'll ask him some questions to ascertain if his brain is working the way he should. If all is as it should be, he can go home.”

“And if it isn't?” asks Ethan, hating to say it but knowing he needs to be prepared for all possibilities.

“It's unlikely that he'll go downhill,” Dr. Emmett says. “But in the off-chance it happens... well, we'll see then. Will that be all?”

“Yes, thank you,” Jane says firmly. The minute the doctor leaves she turns on Ethan. “What the hell, Ethan? He said Will's going to be fine!”

“I know,” Ethan replies. “I just... never mind.”

He turns to go, but Benji stops him. “You don't think he'll make it,” he states.

“No!” denies Ethan loudly, heart almost thudding to a stop at just the idea. “Benji – how could you _say_ that? You know what he is to me!”

“Yeah? What is he to you?” challenges Benji. It's quite uncharacteristic of him to act like this, which is testament to how much he cares about Will. Ethan keeps forgetting he's not the only one worried about Will, that Benji is his best friend and Jane is like his sister.

“Tell us, Ethan,” demands Jane.

“What is up with you two?” asks Ethan incredulously. He can't comprehend why they're acting like this, like he's done something wrong and needs to prove himself to them. It's weird and all shades of _wrong_.

“You keep acting like you're the only one affected by this!” answers Benji, waving his arms around energetically for emphasis, a habit so reminiscent of Will that Ethan has to take a deep breath just to be able to focus. “You keep acting like Will matters only to you, and it's not fair, Ethan!”

“Don't think we don't know you keep sneaking off to see him,” Jane adds, an eyebrow raised. “Honestly?” she says when Ethan looks surprised. “Now _that's_ just insulting. You're not the only spy here, you know.”

“Right,” mumbles Ethan, but he doesn't look them in the eye. This is all somewhat out of the blue. He never thought Jane and Benji felt this way about his behavior.

“We had to find out from the _doctor_ that he responded to you,” Benji says, voice gentler. “Do you know how that feels, finding out something about your best friend from someone else, instead of the one person that's supposed to take care of him? I could still forgive that, but Ethan, you didn't even tell us later. You just... didn't mention it at all.”

And... yeah, now that he comes to think of it, Benji's right. They're both right. He's been so lost in worrying about Will he hasn't stopped to think how they're feeling about all of this. Especially Jane, who's the one who had to pull him out of a fire, watch him get hurt. And it isn't okay.

“I'm sorry,” he finally says quietly. “I should not have done that. I should have told you.”

“Yeah, you should have,” Benji replies, nodding emphatically. Then he adds, “but it's all right.”

“Just – let's not do that again, yeah?” says Jane with a small smile. “I _really_ don't like yelling at you.”

Ethan smiles back, feeling contrite.

“You never did answer us, by the way,” Benji says with a grin a moment later.

“Benji,” says Jane, rolling her eyes. “You go see him,” she says to Ethan. “I know you're dying to.”

“I am,” Ethan replies, smile widening. He turns to leave.

When he's at the door, Benji says, “Tell him hi from us, will you?”

“I will,” promises Ethan, and closes the door behind himself.

He runs into nobody on his way to Will's, which is a good thing because he's sure he's going to be banned from the hospital if he's caught up here again. He still wears the scrubs and stuff. They're starting to get wrinkled, and he thinks he's going to have to steal himself a new pair.

As expected, Will's not moved at all, but he looks... better. His skin has a healthy pink tinge to it, and his vital signs are much improved. They've taken the ventilator away, and Ethan smiles to himself when he sees Will's chest move up and down on its own.

“Looks like you're getting better,” he says out loud, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Somehow it feels like if he touches Will just now, he'll go back to the way he'd been and it will all be for nothing. It's irrational as fuck but Ethan's not taking any chances.

“You wake up, you hear. I'm losing my mind here without you,” he admits.

It hits him later that night, in bed, what Benji and Jane meant when they asked what Will is to Ethan. It's funny that it's taken him this long to see it, when it couldn't have been more obvious. The signs have been there all along – the way Will makes him smile when no one can; how light and carefree he feels when they're together; how he loves hearing the sound of Will's voice first thing in the morning; and how when they kiss it feels like there is nothing else in the world.

He's in love with Will.

Fucking shit, he's _in love with Will._

“What did you do to me?” he whispers to Will, the next day when he goes to see him (this time in a pair of brand new scrubs). “How am I realizing this _just now?_ It's not like this is the first time I've been in love. How did I not see it?”

If Will were awake he would roll his eyes and call him an idiot, and the thought makes Ethan smile despite his still continuing disbelief. He moves closer and takes Will's hand carefully, no longer scared of what might happen. Now that he's correctly identified the feeling he gets when he looks at Will, it feels like he can't get enough of touching him.

“Though, honestly? It's not that surprising,” he tells Will. “I mean, look at you. You're _amazing_. Frankly, I'm surprised no one's tried to ask you out before I did.”

Will's fingers twitch in his again, and he smiles. “You can hear me, then?” he questions. Will's fingers move again.

“Okay, then you know you need to come back,” Ethan says. “Now that I've finally gotten this straight, there is a lot of stuff we should be doing. It's basically the same things we did before, but, you know. More romantically now.”

If Will were awake he'd be laughing his ass off at Ethan.

“I'm aware I suck at monologuing,” Ethan admits, rolling his eyes when Will's heart rate speeds up. “What does that mean? Are you laughing at me inside your head? That is so rude, Will, so unbelievably rude.”

Will's fingers spasm once more, and then again. The heart monitor starts beeping more insistently, and Ethan frowns. If this keeps up a nurse is going to burst in and kick his ass any moment. And he doesn't want to be booted out of the place, at least not without Will in tow.

“Why are you doing that?” he questions. “Something I said, Will?”

To his utter shock, Will's fingers move to grip his, _tightly_. He stares down at their joined hands, and then looks up to see Will's face. He's _moving_ , face contorted in what looks like a grimace, before his muscles all relax and his eyes flutter open.

“Will?” whispers Ethan, finding his voice, his own heart hammering away at his ribcage. Will's... _awake_ , he's finally awake.

Will blinks at him, and the blue of his eyes is such a welcome sight that Ethan finds a huge lump stuck in his throat, constricting it. Will moves his lips, but no sound comes out. He makes a frustrated sound, and tries again. Ethan leans in closer to hear.

“Will?” he repeats softly, questioning.

“E-Ethan,” Will says, voice so low it's almost inaudible. His breath stinks and he sounds like there's a bird's nest inside his throat, but God dammit it's music to Ethan's ears.

“I'm right here,” he says, leaning even closer, free hand coming up to cradle Will's face. “I'm here, Will.”

Will whispers his name hoarsely one more time, and attempts a smile. Before Ethan can react to it the door bursts open and the nurse from before bursts in. “Oh for the love of God,” she snaps irritably when she sees Ethan. “Move away from him, sir.” She pages the doctor, and leans over Will, taking his vital signs, shining a light into his eyes. He shrinks away, screwing his eyes shut.

“I'm right here,” Ethan says again, hoping Will can hear him over the beeping and the nurse's movements. “I'm not going anywhere, Will.”

“Ethan,” Will manages to say one more time, before the doctor arrives.

**O is for overwhelming.**

So he's not banned, exactly. He does get a tongue-lashing from both the doctor and the nurse, but he's not banned from the hospital. He's just forbidden from going near Will's room. The doctor assigns two security guards to stand outside Will's door just in case he tries again. Ethan knows he can take both of them if he wants, plus a few others, but he gets the point. Now that he knows Will's awake he feels more restless to see him, but also relieved. And this overwhelming relief is something he can do with, while he waits for the doctors to finish running their tests.

The first thing he does is go to Jane's room and apprise her and Benji of this latest development. Benji actually yells, “Really?”

“Yes!” Ethan answers, unable to help the huge fucking smile on his face. “He's awake, Benji, he's pulled through.”

Jane's smiling so wide it looks like her face will break in half, tears shining in her eyes even as she asks, “And he said your name?”

Ethan nods.

Jane slumps back against her pillows. “Thank God,” she whispers, mostly to herself, but she's saying what they're all thinking. “He's okay, he's _awake_.”

Ethan crosses the room in three strides and gathers her into his arms. “Thank you so much,” he says into her hair. “Jane, I owe you. I owe you Will, Jane.”

“You don't owe me a fucking thing,” she responds, hugging him back just as tightly. “I'd kill for him, Ethan, but I'd die for him too.”

“We all would,” Benji appends, and joins the hug, seating himself on Jane's bed so he's comfortable.

They all stay in that position for a very long time, until Ethan's legs feel like jelly and it feels like his heart will burst from happiness.

**P is for possible.**

Will's moved to the ICU while they wait for the doctor to come talk to them. He's sleeping again, tired out, the nurse tells him. Jordan, says her badge, and Ethan finally has a name to put to the face of the one woman who keeps kicking him out of Will's room.

They're still not allowed to see him. Ethan and Benji wait impatiently in Jane's room, occasionally pacing up and down. Jane's restless, and has to be berated by Nurse Jordan before she can be convinced to sit still and not aggravate her own injuries any further. Benji keeps tapping his fingers against the top of Jane's bedside table.

Dr. Emmett comes out to see them after they've been waiting a couple of hours. “His scans are all fine,” are the first words he says. “We've begun prepping him for surgery to replace the bone flap. There seems to be no brain damage. He's incredibly lucky. Once he recuperates from the surgery he can go home, but someone has to stay with him.”

“I'll do it,” says Ethan at once.

Dr. Emmett raises an eyebrow. “Okay,” he says. “I'll give you instructions on what to do and how to look after him best. But,” he adds sternly, “until then, you are _not_ allowed to see him.”

“That's bullshit,” Benji says loudly. “Why not?”

“I didn't mean you,” clarifies the doctor. “I mean this gentleman here.” He gestures towards Ethan. “I don't want you anywhere near his room.”

“That's not fair,” protests Ethan. “You said it yourself – it's good for him to have you around. Besides, what could the possible downsides be? You wouldn't have moved him to the ICU if you didn't think he could handle a few people.”

He has a point, and he knows it. Dr. Emmett regards him silently, and he defiantly holds eye contact. He is _not_ backing down on this.

“Fine,” sighs the doctor in exasperation after an intense staring contest. He blinks, eyes watering a little due to having been open for so long. “But only for a limited amount of time, okay? You get out when we tell you to.”

“I will,” Ethan promises.

The doctor discharges Jane, who has been deemed ready to go home, and the three of them head to the hotel. Ethan doesn't sleep the entire night, just lies awake listening to Benji's light snores. He's back at the hospital before visiting hours begin. Jane was too tired to come, and Benji stayed with her, saying they'd swing by later. Ethan understands that they're giving him his time with Will, and is grateful for it.

Will's asleep when Ethan gets into his room, having obtained special permission from Nurse Jordan to do so. He pulls up a chair and takes a seat next to Will's bed, resisting the urge to take his hand.

His head is back to being normal-shaped, even though it still looks odd because of the stitches and the fact that half his hair is missing. His skin looks healthy and pink, and Ethan's grateful for everything as he watches Will breathe in and out, chest rising with each breath.

He waits for two hours, refusing to leave or go to sleep even though he feels like a zombie. Finally Will wakes, blinking up at him and then smiling tiredly. “Hey,” he says softly, and then coughs.

Ethan knows from experience how fucking dry your throat can get when you wake up from a drug-induced slumber, and he immediately fills up a glass of water from the nearby bottle for Will, gently pushing the straw through his lips. Will takes a few sips, and then pushes Ethan's hand away. “Thanks,” he says, voice still a little hoarse.

Ethan smiles at him. “How are you feeling?”

“I'm okay,” answers Will, smiling back. “Considering, you know, that I almost died and all that. Sucked, by the way. 0/10, would not recommend.”

Ethan can't help but laugh. “Welcome back,” he says. “I missed you, you know. A lot.”

“I heard,” replies Will teasingly. “Nurse Jordan was telling me about it as they prepped me. Apparently you just couldn't stay away.” He winks, and Ethan falls some more in love, if that's even possible.

“I couldn't,” he agrees, and reaches out to take Will's hand. “Doc says you're going to be all right, by the way. As soon as they say it's okay, we're going home.”

Will looks a little confused. “You're going to stay with me?” he asks.

“Yes,” confirms Ethan. “Someone's got to look after you, Emmett said. Also I refuse to leave you until I'm absolutely sure you're perfectly okay.”

He expects Will to protest and insist that he's an adult and can look after himself, but to his astonishment Will just nods and accepts it. “Okay,” he says. “Just as long as you don't follow me to the bathroom,” he adds, his tone teasing again.

Ethan snorts. “As if I wouldn't be seeing parts of you that I'm not already quite familiar with.”

Will grins at him. “Well, when you put it that way. We can't have sex, though,” he adds.

“Obviously,” retorts Ethan, grinning back. “Nurse Jordan would have my head.”

“And your penis, too, probably,” muses Will. “And that would absolutely suck.”

“It would,” agrees Ethan lightly. He's missed this so much, missed their banter and the joking and the talking and _everything_ else, and it feels like heaven to have it all back. To have Will back. These past few days without him have been a fucking _nightmare_.

“What are you thinking?” asks Will quietly, and Ethan is snapped out of his thoughts.

“I'm thinking I missed you,” Ethan replies, his voice just as soft. “I missed you so much. And that I'm in love with you.”

Will blinks at him. “These are some really good painkillers,” he says a moment later. “I'm hallucinating you, and fake-you is telling me that you're in love with me.”

“You're not hallucinating,” Ethan answers wryly. “It's really me. And yes, I really said that.”

Will eyes him closely for a second, and Ethan knows he's searching his face, looking for the truth, doing what he does best even though he's in the ICU hopped up on drugs. It feels like Will can see right through him, can read his thoughts and his innermost feelings, even the ones he chooses not to reveal.

Finally Will just murmurs a “hmm”, and offers Ethan his widest smile yet. “Well, then, right back at ya.”

“I'm sorry,” says Ethan in mock-surprise, tilting his head so that his ear faces Will. “Did you say something, Will?”

Will rolls his eyes in fond exasperation. “Yeah, actually. I love you too, you reckless dumbass.”

Ethan smiles with satisfaction. “That's better,” he teases. “I'd kiss you now, but it would make your heartbeat spike and Jordan would have my head.”

“Pity,” sighs Will dramatically. “Now I've got nothing to look forward to but your company.”

“You'll survive,” laughs Ethan.

**Q is for quasi-romantic hospital dates.**

The look on Will's face when they enter his room the next evening armed with balloons and a cake is priceless. “It's not my birthday,” he points out. “Or any of yours.”

“It's New Year's Eve!” Benji says cheerfully, bumping fists with Will's non-IV'd hand. “Did you really not know the date?”

“I haven't got a calender in my brain,” Will retorts, but smiles happily. “Thanks,” he adds.

“Idiot,” is Jane's instantaneous response. “As if we could celebrate New Year's without you.”

She sets the cake down on Will's bedside table and takes one of the two plastic chairs; Ethan settles himself on the bed with Will, taking care not to disturb his IV line; and Benji ties the colorful balloons to the bedframe and then takes the other chair. The best part about Will being moved out of the ICU is that he can have more than one visitor at a time, and Nurse Jordan won't be breathing down their necks about it.

“Why the balloons, though?” questions Will.

“Why not?” counters Benji, shrugging and then grinning at Will. “Now – I know what you're thinking.”

“Really?” asks Will, amused. “What am I thinking, Benji?”

“You're thinking, it's still just half past seven, what are these idiots doing here now?” Benji tells him.

“You're right, I was thinking that,” agrees Will with a straight face. “So tell me, Benji. What are you idiots doing here now?”

“I object to being called an idiot,” says Jane at once, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I take it back,” says Will promptly. “Jane is the only non-idiot in this room, apart from me.”

“You're the _biggest_ idiot in this room,” says Ethan fondly.

“A _hem_ ,” says Benji loudly, looking annoyed. “I wasn't done!”

“Sorry, sorry,” apologizes Will. “Go on, Benjamin, tell me why you're all here.”

“Well, William, out of a deep and abiding love for you, Ethan here suggested that we should all provide you company,” Benji tells him, straight-faced. “He, of course, forgot that all we've been doing since yesterday is providing you company. I suggested that, since it's New Year's Eve, we should celebrate. Jane agreed, and we got you your favorite cake and some balloons.”

“That's wonderful, and I love you guys for it,” says Will, “but it still doesn't answer my question.”

Benji grins, like he's been waiting for Will to ask. “We're going to play Monopoly, of course!” He pulls out the board game from his backpack.

Will raises an eyebrow at him. “Last time we played that Jane had us all bankrupt within half an hour,” he reminds them. “And Benji refused to talk to me for another hour because he lost all his money to me.”

“Monopoly is a serious matter, okay,” Benji deadpans. “And don't let my pleasant demeanor fool you, William my dear, I'm here for revenge.”

“I'm terrified,” Will retorts drily.

Halfway through the game a thought occurs to Will, and he pauses in the act of drawing money from the bank. “Hang on,” he says. “If tonight is New Year's Eve, then... that means I missed Christmas.”

Jane smiles somewhat sadly at him. “You did. We all did. Christmas was the day before you got hurt.”

“It never occurred to me.” Ethan sounds honestly surprised.

“It didn't occur to any of us,” Benji points out. “We were too busy dealing with the mission.”

“Maybe we can have a proper Christmas once Will comes home,” suggests Jane.

“Christmas in January?” says Will, and then shrugs. “Sounds great to me.”

As expected, Jane wipes the floor with all of them. “Don't fuck with me about Monopoly,” she says smugly. “It's not gonna end well for you.”

Ethan goes out for food around half past eight, and returns with Chinese takeout for all of them. After dinner Benji puts on a movie on his laptop, and they all settle down to watch _The Grand Budapest Hotel._

“I like this,” Will whispers to Ethan halfway through the movie, leaning against him. “It's... nice.”

Ethan smiles and wraps his arm around him, feeling the deja-vu. “A quasi-romantic hospital date. Perfect.”

Will snorts into Ethan's shoulder. “Well... it is,” he says quietly after a moment or so.

Benji pauses the movie just as they're getting to the good part. Jane opens her mouth to protest, but Benji just points at the clock. “It's a minute to midnight,” he tells them, grinning excitedly. “Do you guys wanna watch the fireworks?”

Without waiting for a reply he closes the movie window on his laptop and goes on the internet, clicking on a stream link he's got bookmarked already. “London or Dubai?” he asks. “They're both fucking awesome.”

“You choose,” Ethan says.

Benji considers for a moment, and then clicks on _Dubai_. “I've seen the London ones many times,” he explains. “We can always look at those later. Besides – I think it'd be nice to see the Burj properly without worrying about nuclear launch codes.”

“Or worrying about Ethan falling off it,” snorts Jane, and Ethan huffs.

“That was _one time_ ,” he says.

“One time too many,” retorts Will, just as Benji hushes them all loudly.

“The countdown's begun, _shut up_!”

He and Jane begin counting down, both of them wearing large grins. And why not? It's been a good year, despite the ending.

“Ten... nine... eight... seven...”

Ethan intertwines his fingers with Will's.

“Six... five... four...”

He leans in closer, smiles at Will, thinks of how this is everything he's wanted.

“Three... two... _one_!”

He kisses Will just as the fireworks go off, his own heart feeling like it's going to go _boom_ on him when Will kisses him back.

**R is for return.**

Will returns home on the evening of the third of January. He walks by himself from the hospital to the car, and from the car to the airport, and through to their flight back home. He resolutely ignores how tired it makes him feel, but is immediately forced to rest by Ethan anyway.

He falls asleep in the plane, leaning on Ethan's shoulder, wrapped in a gray airline-issue blanket that Jane requests for him. When they get back he insists on walking by himself throughout the airport again, and to the unmarked IMF car waiting to take them home. He falls asleep in the car as well.

Ethan follows Dr. Emmett's instructions regarding Will's health to the letter. He makes sure Will eats properly, rests enough and has his pills on time. They go early to bed and wake up late, Ethan making sure Will gets all the rest he can. Will's taken to wearing a beanie at all time to hide his hair, but he agrees to take it off when it's just him and Ethan. After all, Ethan says, battle scars are nothing to be ashamed of.

They watch a lot of movies and talk even more. Dr. Emmett's referred them to a local doctor, but they choose to go to an IMF-employed doctor instead, who studies Will's file closely and guides them through Will's recovery. Will's still not over the fact that they took a piece of his skull out. “That is _so_ weird,” he keeps saying, and Ethan just rolls his eyes in fond exasperation every time he does it.

They settle into an easy routine. Ethan, Jane and Benji refuse all missions from the IMF until Will's cleared to go back into the field. Ethan puts his foot down firmly when the Secretary suggests that Will could return to his desk job in his recovery time. “Will's staying home and resting,” he declares. “There will be no work.” But when Will gets restless from a lack of anything to do, Ethan compromises, and agrees to let him work from home, provided he doesn't overexert himself.

Neither of them comment on how Ethan's toothbrush now resides next to Will's, and how Ethan hasn't gone back home even though Will is much, much better and can stay by himself now.

**S is for snow.**

“It's really pretty out there,” comments Will, pointing out his window when Ethan looks at him askance. “All the snow.”

It's snowing right now, flakes falling past the window and settling on the panes. Will's wrapped up in one of Ethan's old sweaters and a blanket, watching the snow fall as he drinks his morning coffee.

“It's been snowing for a couple months now,” Ethan points out, not really getting what's so special about it now.

“Yeah, but we were so busy with the mission, and me being in hospital,” Will says. “I've missed it.”

“It's just snow,” Ethan says.

“I like it,” shrugs Will. “Let's go out, Ethan. Get some fresh air. It'll be good!”

“Dr. Kazinsky–” begins Ethan, but gives in before he even starts. “All right,” he says in mock resignation. “Why not.”

They put on thick jackets, and Ethan manages to manhandle a scarf around Will's neck and coax him into wearing a beanie. “It's not that cold!” protests Will.

“After everything you've been through, you're not catching a cold,” says Ethan firmly, and that is that.

They walk to the small park nearby and sit down on a bench. Ethan's actually brought a giant umbrella along, the big red thing hovering over their heads. Will doesn't even remember owning it.

There's almost no one here, though that'll change when the snow stops. They sit in contented silence for a while, pressed up against each other from shoulder to knee. Then Ethan says, “You're right. This is nice.” And it is. It's oddly relaxing in a way that lazing around on Will's couch isn't.

“I'm always right,” Will teases, and then stops. “Look!” he says suddenly, and sticks his tongue out.

“What are you doing?” asks Ethan, nonplussed. Will looks odd, sitting there bundled up with his tongue poking out of his mouth.

Will doesn't reply. Ethan watches in bewilderment as a snowflake lands on Will's tongue and he puts it back in, and then grins at Ethan. “Snowflakes!”

Ethan shakes his head, smiling as he finally gets it. “Snowflakes,” he repeats, amused.

“Don't hate,” warns Will, poking him in the side. “Snowflakes are awesome.”

“Whatever you say, Will,” Ethan says with a grin, but he's not going to deny how incredibly happy it makes him to see Will happy.

**T is for truth.**

They walk back home when the snow start falling faster and they begin resembling Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer due to the cold. By the time they get back to the apartment Will's teeth are chattering.

“Told you it'd be cold,” sighs Ethan as he takes off his jacket and hangs it up.

“Whatever, totally worth it,” says Will, and grins at him. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“The other option was letting you go alone, so I didn't have much of a choice,” points out Ethan, but he's not too put-out about it, and Will knows this perfectly well. He disappears into the kitchen to make hot chocolate, and Ethan spends that time turning the heater on high and looking for something to watch on TV.

They settle in front of an old _America's Next Top Model_ rerun, simply because there's nothing else on and Will's not in the mood for work. A minute into the show Ethan mutes it and says, like they're discussing the weather, “Move in with me.”

“Why should I?” asks Will in return, his tone just as casual. “You kind of live here already. Doesn't make sense for _me_ to move.”

“I have a bigger place,” Ethan points out.

“I have a park nearby,” Will counters.

“I have an actual coffeemaker.”

“Well, bring it with you when you move in officially, then.”

And just like that, the discussion is over and the decision is made. Ethan smiles and nudges Will with his shoulder. “All right. I'll start bringing my stuff over today.”

Will stops sipping his hot chocolate and looks Ethan dead in the eye, a very serious expression on his face. It feels a lot like Will can hear what he's thinking, see what he's feeling. Suddenly self-conscious, Ethan asks, “Uh, what's wrong?”

“Tell the truth,” Will says. “Are you serious about moving in?”

“Of course I am,” Ethan assures him. He smiles. “You need that coffeemaker, don't you?”

Will smiles, despite himself. “I need something else more.”

“My toaster?” asks Ethan promptly, straight-faced.

“No,” laughs Will.

“It's my microwave, isn't it?” guesses Ethan, allowing himself a smile.

“No, you idiot, it's you,” Will tells him with another laugh. “And your coffeemaker, let's be real here,” he adds a moment later.

Ethan rolls his eyes. “You're ridiculous,” he says, but negates his own statement by leaning in and kissing Will's forehead.

**U is for unbreakable.**

Will's lying facedown on the sofa, face smushed into a cushion and a pillow over his head, when Ethan returns from his grocery run. The lights in the apartment are all off and the curtains are drawn across the windows, preventing any sunlight from coming in. Frowning, he puts the bags aside and nears Will, asking, “Hey, you okay?”

“No,” is the muffled answer. “Headache.”

Ethan's frown deepens. Dr. Emmett and Dr. Kazinsky both did say he might have headaches, but he was worried all the same. “How long?” he asks, sitting down on the floor near Will's head.

“It started like, five minutes? After you left,” replies Will, lifting the pillow a little so Ethan can see his face. “I threw up, like, twice, and then just collapsed here.”

The throwing up is also to be expected, but vomiting and headaches both...? Ethan forces a smile on his face and rests his hand on Will's back, between his shoulder blades. “Do you want me to get you anything? A blanket, maybe?”

“Yes, please,” answers Will, and groans into his cushion, covering his head with the pillow again.

Ethan gets him the blanket and drapes it over him, before silently going back to the bedroom. He pulls out his phone and calls Dr. Kazinsky, taking care to keep his voice low so that Will won't be disturbed. “Hey, yeah, Doc? He's thrown up twice in the last hour. And he's got a headache. Yeah, a pretty bad one. What do I do?”

“The headaches and vomiting are all normal as far as it goes for recovering from traumatic brain injury,” explains the doctor. “However, if it gets worse, bring him in and I'll take a look.”

“Okay,” exhales Ethan. He hangs up, and returns to the living-room. Will's not moved. Ethan sits down on the opposite sofa with his iPad and keeps a close eye on Will.

An hour and a half passes by with no change. Just as evening starts to fall and the apartment gets even darker without any sources of light, Will groans into his cushion, chucks the pillow away and slowly rises.

Ethan looks up from his iPad. “How are you feeling?” he asks, concerned.

“Like death warmed over,” mutters Will in answer, staggering to the bathroom. “I'm fine,” he adds when Ethan makes to get up and help him. “I can take care of myself. I'll be fine,” he finishes petulantly.

Ethan suppresses a sigh. “Okay, Will. But don't lock the door,” he reminds him.

“Ethan–”

“Just humor me, okay?”

Will sighs in exasperation, but does as asked. Ethan tries his best not to hover, but gives in to the urge and plants himself just outside the bathroom door. He's hoping that the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach means nothing, but is also well-aware that it is almost _never_ nothing. This is one thing the job's taught him – trust your instincts. If something feels off, that's because it probably is.

He's jolted out of his thoughts at the sound of a muffled _thud_ , and without thinking about it he throws open the bathroom door and rushes inside. Will's lying on the floor, and holy shit, _holy shit_ he's convulsing, and this is everything Ethan had been afraid of when the doctor had first briefed him on traumatic brain injuries.

He drops to his knees next to Will and drags his head onto his lap, providing a cushion. With his free hand he makes sure there's nothing in the vicinity that could hurt Will if his wildly flailing limbs hit it.

Will's turning blue around the mouth, the jerking movements of his limbs and his entire body are showing no signs of stopping, and Ethan's freaking out but he forces himself to stay calm, utilizes every single thing he's learned from his years on the job and resolutely does not panic, just makes sure Will's head is cushioned in his lap and he can't hurt himself on any nearby objects. “It's okay, it's okay,” he tries, his heart beating so fast he can barely hear his own voice over the rush in his ears. “Will, it's all right. You're fine, okay, Will? You're fine.” Which is complete bullshit, and he's sure Will can't even hear him, but he's got to _try_.

The seizure ends just as suddenly as it had started – Will goes completely boneless all at once, eyes fluttering between open and closed, and Ethan breathes a huge sigh of relief, tries to get his own heart rate back under control. Slowly the rush fades from his ears and he adjusts his hold on Will so that Will's lying down in the recovery position, slowly breathing in and out on his own.

Ethan's got no way of going and fetching his phone without leaving Will's side, something he's very reluctant to do. Will seems to be fine now, if not a little pale, but Ethan still doesn't want to let him out of his sight for even a second, just in case something else happens. He's heard that in some cases one seizure can be followed by another.

But he knows he's got to, so he just says, “Hang on, I'll be back in a second, all right?” and runs to fetch his phone. He waits until he's back with Will to call Dr. Kazinsky and apprise him of what's happened.

“What does he say?” asks Will weakly when the call's over, blinking up tiredly at Ethan.

“He's sending an ambulance,” Ethan tells him, sitting with his back against the shower's glass wall. “He says seizures weren't abnormal, but because it's your first, he should get a look.”

“First?” Will sounds vaguely alarmed. “There – there will be more?”

Ethan puts his hand down on Will's forehead, gently wiping away the sweat with his shirtsleeve. “I don't know,” he answers honestly. “How do you feel now?”

“Like I wanna sleep for a thousand years,” Will answers tiredly. “I probably shouldn't, though, right?”

Ethan chuckles. “Yeah, it's probably a bad idea.”

A few moments pass in silence, and then Will says, “Ethan?”

“What is it?”

“Did you remember to buy the milk?”

Ethan laughs again. “You know, I think I may have forgotten.”

Will sighs in mock exasperation. “You're useless,” he accuses, but there's a small smile on his tired face.

Ethan nudges him very, _very_ softly. “I'm kidding,” he says, grinning back. “I got the milk.”

“Good,” grins Will, trying to blink his fatigue away. “The unbreakable Ethan Hunt being unable to do grocery. I wouldn't have believed it anyway.”

“I'm unbreakable? _You're_ unbreakable,” retorts Ethan in disbelief. “I'd have gone crazy by now.”

Will takes the compliment in stride, though he does smile up at Ethan. “Well, you were kind of... born crazy,” he theorizes. “I was not. Maybe that's why.”

Ethan snorts. “You're hilarious,” he says drily, but there is no lie in the statement.

**V is for valiant.**

Dr. Kazinsky tells them that the seizure in nothing unusual in itself, considering the very recent injury and subsequent surgery. “What Will just had was an early post-traumatic seizure,” he explains, “which occurs within seven days of the injury happening. It's most common in people who've had a penetrative brain injury. It's less common in cases of non-penetrative injury, like Will's. Still, it happens. You got the short end of the stick on this one.”

Will makes a face. “Of course I did,” he mumbles. “Talk about shitty luck.”

“Hey, considering your injury, the fact that you're even alive is great luck,” Kazinsky points out. “Most people don't survive their intercranial pressure going that high, kid.” Ethan knows the only reason Will lets him get away with calling him “kid” is because Kazinsky must be at least sixty and showing no signs of wanting to retire in the foreseeable future.

The doctor scrawls something down on a prescription sheet and hands it to Will. “Anti-convulsants,” he explains. “There will be some side effects, okay? You'll be fatigued, sleepy, probably a bit unsteady on your feet. There'll be lightheadedness. Also trembling, confusion and maybe double vision. But it should get better after a few days of you taking them. If it doesn't, call me. If there are more seizures, call me. If you feel depressed, that's the meds. And don't you dare get behind the wheel of a car,” he finishes.

“I wasn't going to,” protests Will.

Kazinsky narrows his eyes at him, clearly not convinced. “I know you field agent types,” he says, matter-of-fact. “You loons aren't happy unless someone's blowing shit up or shooting things.”

“He's not wrong,” mutters Ethan.

“That's rich, coming from you,” retorts Will.

“Gonna agree with the kid here,” puts in Kazinsky. “Anyway, if there aren't any more seizures and if you recover without any more complications, you should be back in the field soon enough. Before then, for the love of God, kid, _please_ stay at home and if you feel restless, take up knitting or something.”

“Secretary keeps sending me paperwork and reports and stuff to do from home,” Will tells him.

“That's okay,” says Kazinsky. “But if you begin to feel stressed, even a little bit, you tell me and I'll talk to the Secretary.”

“Will do,” promises Will, looking delighted at the thought of Kazinsky having words with the Secretary.

Ethan pulls up Google on his phone, looks around a bit, and then says, “You _are_ aware that in DC you need to be seizure-free for 12 months before you can drive, right?”

“No, I was not aware,” Will says, looking dismayed now and valiantly trying not to show it. “What about field duty?”

“You can't drive for a year, you think you can be cleared for field duty?” asks Kazinsky rhetorically. “I can direct you to a good store for knitting supplies. My cousin owns it. I want a Christmas sweater from you this year for all my troubles.”

“You're a doctor, it's _your_ job,” retorts Will. “It's like me asking you to buy me stuff just because we saved the world.”

“Don't get too ahead of yourself,” Kazinsky dismisses. “Now – you're not pregnant, are you?”

Will does a double-take. “ _What_? Are you sure you're a doctor?” Ethan's trying and failing to suppress his laughter.

“Standards questions,” Kazinsky tells him with a grin. “I'll take your answer as a no. Okay, you're free to go, and just remember, I'm partial to homemade sweaters. Make mine blue.”

Ethan has to practically drag Will away to make sure he doesn't strangle the doctor.

**W is for want.**

The first thing Ethan does when they get home is go into the bathroom and rearrange the medicine cabinet, and restock it with Will's new meds. Will sits down on the closed toilet seat and talks Ethan's ear off.

They start a routine about the drugs as well – which, simply put, involves Ethan nagging Will till he shuts up and downs them all. It's not that Will's bad with looking after himself – it's just that he's either too involved in work to remember, or else too confused because of the drugs.

“Why did he think I was pregnant?” asks Will one fine morning, lying spread-eagled on the sofa, woozy and out of it. “Do I look pregnant?”

Ethan chuckles quietly to himself. “No you don't.”

“So why would he think that?”

“I think he was just joking, Will.”

“Oh. Okay.” A minute later he's asleep.

He remembers it when he wakes up, and Ethan can't stop laughing at Will's bright red face and petulant expression. “You thought you looked pregnant,” he tells him, grinning.

“Shut up,” mumbles Will. “I was drugged, okay.” He throws a cushion at Ethan, but misses because his aim is way off. “Ugh, I hate this.”

“You only have to take them for some time,” consoles Ethan. “If you're all good at your next check-up, you can stop.”

Will moans something unintelligible into his pillow, but Ethan thinks that the additional middle finger he waves around is a pretty good indication of what he thinks of that.

He does start getting better though, after a few days have passed. He's no longer woozy and doesn't get dizzy if he's standing for too long. He starts helping Ethan around the house, doing the dishes, folding laundry, other chores that aren't too difficult for him to do. Ethan initially does not comment, understanding the constant need to be doing _something_ that isn't paperwork (and no, knitting does _not_ count), but it starts getting out of hand when he notices Will grabbing a mop with every intention of cleaning the apartment top to bottom.

“What do you think you're doing?” he asks sternly, taking the mop from him and guiding him to the nearest chair, which happens to be at the kitchen table.

“Cleaning,” answers Will simply. “Why?”

“I should be asking you that,” Ethan retorts. “You _know_ I have this covered, why are you exerting yourself? Do you _want_ more seizures?” It annoys him how thickheaded Will can be, for such a smart person.

Will frowns. “Do I look like an idiot to you?” he asks. “Why would I want more seizures? I just wanna help around, okay. I _hate_ that you have to look after me and the apartment and everything else while I just lie around all day doing nothing but paperwork. I'm just trying to make it easier for you.”

This catches Ethan by surprise, and it takes him a few moments to compose himself. “Look, Will,” he finally begins. “I told you I've got this covered, and I mean it. You don't have to do _anything_. I just want you to get well, all right? That is all I want, for you to be okay. But if you keep overexerting yourself, you're just going to work yourself into another seizure.”

Will sighs. “I know. I know, okay? I'm sorry to worry you. It's just that I fucking _hate_ sitting and doing nothing, and knowing it's another year before I can drive, and who even knows when they'll let me back into the field. You guys can't keep refusing missions forever too, you know.”

“Try me,” answers Ethan. “Look, there's no one else I want in the field with me, okay? And if it means staying home with you for a year, I'll do it.”

“Why, though?” questions Will. “I know you, Ethan, you can barely go three days without doing something dangerous. What makes you think you're not going to get sick of being at home with me in a week?”

“Because I want this, Will,” Ethan tells him, abruptly. “I want everything that I can have with you, and I don't fucking care if you've got a fever or both legs amputated, I'm not going anywhere.”

There is a silence as Will just stares at Ethan, who can practically see the gears in his brain turn. He's got that look on his face, the _I'm analyzing the ever-living shit out of you_ look that he has when he's thinking. Then finally he just says, “Are you sure?”

Ethan nods emphatically. “Yes. I'm sure.”

Will eyes him closely. It's starting to make him uncomfortable now. “Okay, Ethan,” Will finally says, but he's grinning. “And I know for a fact that you're going to follow Jane and Benji to wherever their missions are, 'just to keep an eye on them' you'll say, so don't think I'm buying it for even a minute.”

It hadn't even occurred to Ethan, but now that he thinks about it, Will's right. “Well,” he hedges, and then smiles. “We'll just tell IMF that we're vacationing while you recover.”

Will snorts. “They'll totally buy it.”

“Why wouldn't they?” questions Ethan rhetorically, but he's laughing and so is Will.

**X is for x-ray.**

They go for a check-up a month after the initial injury. Kazinsky goes through the usual MRI, CT scan and an X-ray, all the while making digs about knitting at Will and inquiring about his sweater. He situates them all in his office while they wait for the result, and begins his question and answer session.

“Any more seizures?” he asks.

“Nope,” answers Will. “Nothing other than the occasional headache, and I threw up a couple times. The meds help, though.”

“Good,” says Kazinsky. “How's that knitting going?”

“Awesome,” mutters Will.

“Okay... any behavioral changes?” Kazinsky directs this at Ethan.

“Nothing unusual,” Ethan answers. “He does have his lows, but that's to be expected, you said. They're fewer and far between, though, now.”

“Any sensory issues?” he asks Will. “Are you having trouble focusing, or remembering things? Does stuff taste different to you? Vision problems, anything?”

Will shakes his head. “So far, so good, Doc.”

“Okay, you're doing well,” announces Kazinsky. “You're incredibly lucky, so I want to hear none of that shitty luck business, you hear? Come again in two months and we'll see how you are then.”

The lab results arrive soon, and Kazinsky declares that Will's healing nicely. “At the rate you're going, you should be cleared for field duty soon,” he says. “Just be careful, and do nothing that will push that back even more.”

Will nods. “Thanks a lot, Doc,” he says sincerely.

“Just remember,” Kazinsky says as they stand to leave. “My favorite color is blue. Knit a reindeer on if you can.”

**Y is for yours.**

Five months pass. Jane and Benji go on nine missions – and Ethan and Will follow them under the guise of “vacationing”. Ethan's pretty sure the Secretary knows what they're up to, but because they don't directly interfere he says nothing. They just watch from afar, and Will provides intel. Sometimes, if backup is needed, Ethan goes.

They're in Rio de Janeiro in the beginning of June, helping Jane and Benji prep for an infiltration. They've temporarily teamed up with Declan Gormley and Zhen Lei, from Ethan's old team, so that they don't fall short of agents. Will debriefs them on what they're supposed to do, while Ethan goes over the equipment and makes sure it's all working.

They're left alone in the safehouse after the team leaves. Ethan can see that Will's going to start driving himself up the wall with worry any time soon – it's a dangerous mission and Will worries about the littlest things anyway. “Hey,” he says, sitting down across the kitchen table from him. “They'll be fine. They're capable agents.”

“I know,” Will answers. “I just wish we could go with them. Or at least _you_ could, why didn't you?”

“If I'd gone you'd have been here alone,” Ethan points out. “Besides, neither of us have been authorized to do more than help them out. I'll go in if they need backup, but I doubt they will.”

“What do we in the meanwhile, then?” wonders Will. “They'll take around three hours or so.”

“Let's go out?” suggests Ethan. “We can keep our comms in, just in case they need help, but we don't have to sit in and do nothing.”

They end up having dinner at a small hole-in-the-wall restaurant that Ethan somehow finds on Google. The food is spicy as hell, though, and they both spend more time downing glass after glass of water than actually eating.

“Never again,” gasps Will after they pay and leave. “My mouth is on fire.”

Ethan would agree, but he's too busy gulping down another bottle of ice-cold water.

They wander around for a while after that and find themselves in the shady part of the city by accident. “Dammit, Ethan,” curses Will, exasperated. “Where's your Google Maps now?”

“Don't worry, we'll find our way out,” promises Ethan, thinking it wise not to mention that he can't get a phone signal out here, so using the Internet is out of the question.

“You say that now, but what about when we're surrounded by a bunch of people all intent on shanking us in the liver?” mutters Will.

“That's... oddly specific,” Ethan comments.

“I don't want my liver shanked, Ethan.”

“Neither do I.”

“Then get us out of here.”

“Are the comms working?”

“Yes, but I'm not going to interrupt them just to tell them we're _lost_ , that'd be stupid.”

“We'll wait till they're done, then.”

They walk along, looking around at the unfamiliar buildings and vaguely threatening rusted-out car frames. “Where the fuck even is this?” wonders Will. “You know what – I'm just going to call for help. Give me your phone.”

“What's wrong with yours?” asks Ethan. “I can't get a signal on mine.”

Will just sighs in exasperation and takes out his own cell phone. Ethan watches as he scrolls through his contact list, before finally coming to a stop on a contact called _Jack Smith_. The picture attached to the contact is of a handsome man who looks just a bit older than Will.

“Who's that?” asks Ethan suspiciously. If this Jack Smith were an agent he would have heard of him.

“My ex,” answers Will absently; he's got the phone to his ear and is waiting for Smith to pick up.

“You never mentioned him,” says Ethan, trying his best not to sound like he cares.

“You never asked,” retorts Will. Smith picks up just then, and Ethan can hear him talk through the phone.

“Will? Hi! How are you?”

“I'm good,” Will answers, endeavoring to keep his tone cheerful and not like he's afraid for his liver. “Hey, Jack, I need a favor, man. I hate to call you for this, but – you're in Rio, right?”

“Yes, why?” inquires Smith. He even sounds handsome, ugh.

“Nothing, I'm just a little lost. I'm not sure where I am, but–” he describes the neighborhood they're in, and Smith makes a sound of recognition.

“Ah, I know where you are! Hang on, I'll be there in ten minutes.”

“Thanks, man,” Will says gratefully, and hangs up. Ethan pounces on the opportunity at once.

“So... he's not IMF?”

Will throws him a strange look. “No,” he replies. “We dated in college. He doesn't know I'm IMF.”

“How come you still have his number, if you dated in college?” inquires Ethan. He's not _jealous_ , okay. Just curious. Very, very curious.

“I never delete anyone's number,” Will informs him. “Never know when it might come in handy. Like now.”

Ethan considers this, and then asks, feeling very not jealous thanks a lot, “How long did you date for?”

Will's now openly eyeing him suspiciously, like he knows exactly what's up. He probably does. “Not long, just six months. It wasn't really working.”

Ethan exhales in relief, and then realizes his mistake. It's all the confirmation Will needs.

“You're jealous of him.” It's not a question.

“Whaaaaat – of course not,” denies Ethan at once. “I've never even met him! Why would I be jealous of a guy you dated for six months forever ago? It doesn't make sense.” He laughs nervously.

“Yeah, it doesn't,” Will says, and to Ethan's astonishment he grins. “So stop.”

“I can't stop being jealous if I never started being jealous,” points out Ethan, lying through his teeth.

“Ethan, this is literally the first time I've contacted him after college,” Will tells him, laughing. “Don't be so irrational. You _know_ I'm yours – you've got nothing to worry about.”

And all right, fine, he was jealous, and _maybe_ Will's words are exactly what he needs. Maybe, okay.

Definitely.

**Z is for Ziploc.**

It's been six months and Dr. Kazinsky clears Will for the field, but also provides instructions on what to do if anything goes wrong. They celebrate by immediately signing up for the first mission they're given. It's a simple protection detail, perfect to ease back into the field and not very stressful.

Will spends the week before they're due to leave pacing up and down the apartment, driving Ethan up the wall because he just refuses to sit still. “You'll be fine, Will,” he assures more than once.

“But what I'm not?” counters Will rhetorically. “What if I get another seizure, or hit my head again and this time it's worse?”

“It's not going to happen, but if it does, we'll deal with it,” Ethan tells him patiently. “Relax, Will. You'll be fine. You've got us to back you up.”

“I know, I know,” Will says, running his hand through his hair. “I'm being irrational.”

“Hey, you're only human,” Ethan says. “You're allowed to have your doubts. Just make sure they're reasonable ones.”

Will comes to a stop in front of Ethan. “Ethan Matthew Hunt, are you calling me unreasonable right now?”

“Did – did you just use the full name card?” asks Ethan in disbelief, looking up at Will. He can't help it; he starts laughing. “I can't believe you just played my own trick on me!”

“It never works,” Will grumbles, and collapses on the sofa next to Ethan.

Ethan just wraps his arm around Will's shoulders and pulls him closer. “You're worrying about nothing,” he tells him gently. “It's going to go fine, Will.”

“You really think so?” asks Will, leaning against him.

“Yeah, I do,” Ethan says. “Stop worrying, Will.”

“Well,” Will says after a short silence. “It's just a protection detail, right? At least I don't have to worry about my remains being shipped home in a Ziploc bag.”

Ethan grimaces. “Funny how that's not funny at all.”

Will elbows him. “Geez, sorry. Was just making a joke.”

“Don't joke about you dying, then,” Ethan says abruptly. “I'd rather not think about that ever again.”

“Sorry,” repeats Will. “But you know – the kind of work we do? It's very likely that any one of us could die like that.”

“Doesn't mean I like thinking about it.”

“You fuck around with death on every mission,” counters Will. “You think no mission is complete without you doing something incredibly stupid that ends up in me having to save your ass.”

Ethan opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it again when he realizes Will's right. “Fine, you win,” he grumbles.

Will pokes him in the side, and grins when Ethan makes a face at him. “What? Does this bother you?” he asks innocently, poking him again.

“Stop that!” exclaims Ethan, and pokes Will back. Will retaliates. So does Ethan.

“They've lost it,” observes Jane when she enters the apartment to find them in the middle of what looks to be tickling war, both of them flushed and breathless and laughing so hard that there's bound to be sprained muscles if they don't stop soon.

Well, at least they're both together, and happy. And that's what matters.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is greatly appreciated.
> 
> Love,  
> Remy x


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